


All Bark and No Bite

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Feeling B era, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Prostate Massage, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Following a gig, tipsy and lustful, Flake and Paul immediately seek out their bed at home.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	All Bark and No Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fouroux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/gifts).



> The night has evolved from playing a gig followed by many drinks and laughter, to going back home to their shared flat, and collapsing into bed. Finally, they can release the pent up sexual tension that has reached the precipice by the conclusion of the evening. Throughout the concert, they’ve been exchanging glances (Paul had been cocky and giving him _looks—_ undressing him with his eyes, curling his tongue over his teeth while waggling his eyebrows at him, and winking), shared a cigarette near the end, and spoke in a language only they understood through eyes alone. Paul had settled a hand on the small of his back while lighting up the cigarette, which had been totally intentional. Flake isn’t an idiot.

But he seems to be susceptible to Paul’s charm. Now he’s on his back atop their shared bed. Paul had all but ripped his clothing off of him as soon as they were in the privacy of the bedroom. He’d pinned Flake down and kissed every inch of him, and then proceeded to hold a casual conversation with him as if he wasn’t slicking his fingers up with cooking oil and beginning to finger the younger man.

Soon after, Paul has Flake’s legs spread to accommodate him. Following a clumsy yet successful attempt of slipping on a condom, he’s stroking the oil over his erect cock with a slim, shaky hand. His shaft is flushed deeply with his arousal. Flake, invigorated by the electricity of the evening and the courage given to him by alcohol, cannot keep his hands off of his boyfriend. He’s stroking at his slim thighs, his hips, and then back down again to grip his thighs as Paul adjusts the angle of their intertwined bodies. Paul rubs the slick head up and down between Flake’s asscheeks, earning a shudder and a sharply inhaled breath from the younger man.

With his bottom lip between his teeth, brow knit in concentration, Paul watches himself grip his cock tightly in a fist and press it firmly into Flake. He pushes in slowly. Flake’s hands become white-knuckled around Paul’s thighs. He watches with faintly flinching eyes, wincing in pain—perhaps they didn’t spend long enough preparing him. Once Paul slides in entirely, shifting a little closer to lock his pelvis against Flake’s ass, Flake groans, head tipping back into the bed, exposing the length of his throat and Adam’s apple. Paul’s lips find his flat chest, dotted with moles. He mouths over his heaving chest, and bites gently at a hardened nipple. Flake’s skin ripples from that. He roams his hand up from Paul’s thigh to stroke over the curve of his spine.

“Does it hurt?” Paul murmurs against his chest, peeking up at him past wild blonde locks, earning a hazy glance of blue. Flake shifts his hips a little under Paul’s, essentially grinding down on his cock. Paul’s eyes flutter slightly at that. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy when he looks back up at Flake with lust. He’s obviously drunk. Flake gently rakes his fingernails down Paul’s back. He nods slightly.

“A little. Start f-fucking me and it’ll get better—just, slowly,” Flake murmurs, shyly searching in those gray eyes. Paul grins, accentuating the laugh lines around his mouth, boyish face lighting up. He nods. He arches up to kiss Flake on the mouth. He hit a little off his mark. He kissed just under Flake’s lips. Flake grins radiantly, eyes twinkling, amused. He giggles. Paul laughs. He adjusts his reach and then kisses him flat on the mouth. Flake hums, closing his eyes, and draws a lean arm around Paul’s shoulders, big hand flattening across his freckled shoulder blade.

After exchanging a brief back and forth pursing of their mouths, Paul sits back with a pleased smile. He brings his slim hands down to hook them around the underside of Flake’s knees, drawing his legs up, angling his lower half. Flake’s mouth falls open; Paul shifts their bodies, so he’s bearing more of his weight into him, and thus, pushing in deeper until his balls are pressed against him. Flake drops his head back again, moaning, hands roaming shakily over Paul’s thighs. Paul begins to thrust. A slow back and forth at first, working the tension out of him. Flake’s face pinches from the ache, the pain of it, his mouth in a slight grimace—with his head tipped back, Paul doesn’t notice his expression. But it’s fine. Flake bears it, because he doesn’t want it to end.

Paul is sucking in breaths through his teeth, eyes narrowed down on Flake’s sweaty, thin body, his brow furrowed. Paul is flushed everywhere. His long blonde hair clings to his jaw and neck with sweat. They’ve barely begun, but the combined heat of their overworked bodies is enough.

Once the push and pull becomes easier, smoother, Paul begins to pump his hips. Flake grunts with every thrust, lifting his head again to watch with an open mouth and pleasured eyes. It doesn’t hurt anymore—it just feels good. He watches Paul’s slender body move, hips rocking, belly flexing. His cock is slick and flushed, moving in and out of him deliciously, balls hitting against him—which Flake always found incredibly sexy because it only meant Paul was fucking him so deeply, though he would never admit this in a thousand years. And now, it continues to prove true: Flake is so turned on from this position, feeling trapped under the older man, controlled and claimed by him. Laying here as if he could do nothing else but take it. He loved making Paul feel good.

“Oh, fff-fuck,” Paul gasps, ever so vocal as he tends to be when drunk. Flake’s belly twists with arousal at that. He watches Paul’s face weaken with pleasure, his mouth opening, brow knitting together (rather cutely), his eyes becoming tender and erotic. Flake melts under that gaze, sweeping over him like Paul couldn’t get enough of this image. He pauses in his thrusting, their lower halves locked again, and brings a hand up to clumsily run it across Flake’s flat, flushed chest—Paul blinks widely as if he’s pleasantly surprised by the feeling. Flake huffs.

“Why did you stop?”

Paul laughs. He speaks with a slight slur woven into his speech.

“I can’t do both at the same time. Let me touch you a second.”

Blushing, Flake thinks to himself it’s not like he would get up and leave.

“Do whatever you want,” he mumbles, flustered, watching as the other man swept both hands over his heaving chest, fingers outstretched and mapping across his pale skin dotted with cute moles. He pinches Flake’s hard nipples. Flake lurches. His composure cracks; he barely manages to withhold a flustered grin, but Paul seems to see it regardless considering he’s searching his face and giggling with giddy eyes.

“Sensitive, eh?” he teases, and proceeds to lightly scrape his fingernails across the nubs of them. Flake yelps and shoots his hands up to grab tightly onto Paul’s wrists. Paul laughs loudly. Flake can’t hide his grin—it lightens up his face considerably, showing his teeth and accentuating his laugh lines.

“You idiot!” he growls, “I take it back. You can’t do whatever you want.”

Paul snickers. He gently pries his wrists out of Flake’s grip and instead grabs _his_ wrists. He pins his arms to the bed, sufficiently restraining him. Flake swallows hard, staring up at him with a more alert expression, his blue eyes wide and bleached hair wild. Paul looks pleased.

“Sure I can,” he muses, his glassy eyes hooded, “You’ll let me do whatever I want to you. You’re all bark and no bite, baby.”

Flake’s face burns. Paul is correct.

“Just fuck me already,” he huffs, “Or would you rather sit here with your dick up my ass for the rest of eternity?”

Paul laughs. He leans forward to press his forehead to Flake’s. Flake pouts at him, cheeks aflame. Paul angles his head to peck him on the mouth.

“That doesn’t sound too bad to me. Dying intertwined with you,” he teasingly purrs, earning a grimace from the younger man. Paul grins broadly, eyes twinkling. Flake squints at him. Paul knows him too goddamn well sometimes, and how to press his buttons. Saying mushy shit always embarrasses him.

“I’m about to get up and leave,” Flake says, clenching his hands against the bed, where they’ve been kept pinned. Paul chuckles.

“I wouldn’t let you,” he states factually. Flake isn’t sure what to say to that. Paul seems to decide for him: he releases one of his wrists to instead grab him by the jaw, fingers pressing into his cheeks, and angles his head to kiss him. Flake lets his eyes roll shut. Paul’s lips are soft and lovely against his own. They kiss slowly and intimately, like they’ve only ever known each other’s lips, and no one else’s. Paul kisses him tenderly. Controlled, and loving as if he wasn’t tipsy. Like all his focus has been narrowed into a fine point—that being this kiss. Like he’d be willing to mess everything else up in life but sharing a kiss with Flake. He continues holding his jaw, refusing to let him sever this connection of mind and body.

When they separate, Paul is breathless again, and Flake is dazed, his face pleasantly pink and mouth wet. Paul kisses his cheek, his temple, and then nuzzles into his bleached, choppy hair. Flake turns his face up towards Paul’s, nose rubbing against Paul’s chin and cheek. Paul giggles. Flake grins, blushing with a pleasant shyness. Paul kisses him on the tip of the nose.

He strokes his hand up over Flake’s forearm to reattain the grasp on his wrist. But he doesn’t stop there. He roams his hands up from his wrists, fingers caressing across his palms to thread their fingers together. This time, he pins his arms down by locking their hands together. Flake’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest—the gesture is so gentle and loving that it kneed Flake’s feelings right in the stomach. He sucks in a breath, looking up at Paul with wide eyes and red cheeks. Paul smiles down at him with hooded eyes.

“See? I’m not letting you go,” he teases with a sly grin, wrinkling his nose at him. Flake is a little speechless. He takes a second to process his response. He searches in Paul’s amused gray eyes.

“I don’t th-think I want to go anywhere anymore,” he mutters. Paul cracks another laugh. He leans down to nuzzle into Flake’s forehead with his own, nose skimming against his, and then mutters, “Stop being so cute. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Flake huffs. “Look at how gay you’re being.”

Paul giggles. He gently releases Flake’s hands, fingers unraveling. Flake misses it immediately. Paul sits back. He searches Flake’s flustered face with a faint smile on his own. Bringing one hand up, he runs his thumb over Flake’s kissed lips, dragging his bottom lip down with it, revealing his teeth. A shot of arousal pierces Flake’s insides when Paul gently pushes his thumb into his mouth. Flake silently enjoys the taste of Paul, but he is unable to meet his gaze. He opts to admire Paul’s chest instead, down to his belly, and even further, to where they’re connected. Paul withdraws his thumb. He sweeps it down over his chin, smearing his saliva. Then he gently, slowly closes his hand around Flake’s throat, if only to pin his head back. He does it so carefully, without any cruelty—as if it were a caress more than anything. Flake’s heart is thudding away. He feels a little objectified by this, but it’s far from making him uncomfortable. It turns him on, feeling like a sexual object to Paul. Something worth lusting over. Something that he _wants._

“Please fuck me,” he hears himself saying, gaze remaining locked on their joined lower halves. Such words coming out of his own mouth further clouds his mind with the haze of arousal. Paul hums lowly. He cups his hands under Flake’s knees and carefully forces his knees up—and up, and up, until Flake is startled to find himself flexible enough for his knees to end up against his shoulders. Paul adjusts himself against him, shifting his lower half against Flake’s for the best angle. It has him grinding into him. Flake moans, eyes widening and sweeping up to fix on Paul’s faintly smiling face. He’s so handsome and alluring like this. Soft, and loving, and aroused. Flake always enjoyed the gentler side of Paul, especially in moments of intimacy.

Flake feels much smaller under Paul like this. There is such a great height gap between them, but Flake always felt like Paul could control him easily, could overpower him effortlessly. This is a good example. Flake feels powerless. Paul could have his way with him and Flake wouldn’t think twice.

Paul begins to thrust his hips. With his slim, guitar-roughened hands tightly gripping Flake’s knees, he keeps him pinned as he rocks his lower half against him. Flake drops his head back and moans. His hands fly out to clutch at Paul’s skinny thighs, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Oh,” he hears Paul gasp, “Oh, God, Flake.”

That has Flake lifting his head again. He watches Paul’s face twist with pleasure. His mouth is in a grimace, his eyes pinched shut. Shit. That is really hot. Flake stares. Paul begins really fucking him now; he drives into him harder and faster, until the dilapidated bed frame begins creaking and groaning loudly in strain. It is embarrassingly loud, but nothing can be done about it, especially considering Paul is losing himself. Flake is unable to withhold his own moaning—this position makes for much deeper fucking. The pleasure in itself is so good, but he always basked in the feeling of being fucked, the feeling of being wanted, the feeling of being _taken._ The intimacy derived from the way their bodies are truly joined. No barriers, no self-built walls that he always has to smash to pieces and then subsequently rebuild over and over again. All of that is gone. The physical pleasure could never surpass the pleasure of his mind.

Paul suddenly collapses forward, bracing his elbows against the bed with Flake’s legs hooking haphazardly over his arms. Paul has him pinned under his weight. Flake loves it. He brings his hands up from Paul’s thighs to wrap his lean arms around him, hands clutching at his freckled shoulder blades.

Paul has his face close to Flake’s, and by reflex, Flake turns his face up towards Paul’s, to gently nuzzle into his cheek and jaw. Paul groans. He angles his head to crush his mouth mindlessly to Flake’s. He doesn’t even kiss him properly. Just keeps his lips pushed against Flake’s as he grunts and moans softly, pumping his hips hard against him. Dazedly, Flake melts under the caress of his mouth, enjoying it wholly despite the fire of their fucking. The bed is creating a huge racket, and their moaning is far from subtle.

“Fffuck, oh, fuck—” Paul swears against Flake’s mouth, firing another shot of arousal through Flake’s body. Paul goes silent, quivering against him. He drives his hips down against Flake, screwing him into the bed while Flake can only lay there and welcome it. Abruptly, Paul bites Flake’s bottom lip between his teeth and holds it, almost as if he is using him as an anchor while the tide sweeps him away.

His thrusting becomes shaky and spasmodic. His entire body is flexing atop Flake’s, his breaths huffing fast and hard against his face. Flake gasps, eyes opening to watch Paul’s face flicker from agonizing pleasure to warm euphoria. He releases Flake’s bottom lip, to instead rest his sweaty forehead to Flake’s. His hips move in a slow back and forth, lengthening the pleasure, before coming to a stop, fully seated inside of him. Flake goes limp against the bed, looking up at him with a heavily flushed face and weak eyes. Paul continues touching their foreheads together, eyes remaining closed. Then he angles his head, just slightly, to kiss him gently. Flake tightens his arms around him. The taste of Paul is thick in his mouth. Swapped saliva, tinged with sweat and overworked lips. Flake turns his head a little, breaking the kiss.

“Shit,” Paul mumbles as he slowly detaches from Flake, rising up to sit back. He looks a little bashful. Flake isn’t sure why until Paul speaks again.

“Sorry. Should’ve lasted longer.”

Oh. Flake pauses, and then snorts, earning a sharp, defensive glance from Paul. Flake shrugs with a slight smile.

“I don’t care about that. That was hot. M-Making you come fast is hot.”

Paul beams. He looks pleasantly surprised. Maybe even surprised Flake said _that_ so easily. He giggles, stroking his hands up over Flake’s heaving belly. Flake bites his bottom lip, stifling a broader grin. Paul squeezes his sides, murmuring a teasing remark, “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing then. ‘Cause I always have to stop and go with you to make it last longer. I have too much fun with you.”

Flake blushes. He presses a hand over his face and huffs. He speaks lowly, sarcastically.

“Sure. Obviously, I’m a catch.”

“Really!” Paul insists firmly, as he slowly pulls out. Flake shudders at that, peeking past his fingers. Paul continues nonchalantly speaking as he moves back, adjusting himself between Flake’s lean thighs.

“You think I let anyone else see me like that? No way. Hell, no one else can even _get_ me like that.”

While saying this, Paul grabs the bottle of oil, unscrewing the lid and letting the shiny fluid run onto his fingers. Flake is speechless, losing focus on the conversation to instead pay attention to whatever Paul is planning to do. It becomes apparent as he wets his fingers and rubs his fingertips up and down over his well-fucked hole. Flake gasps, mind short-circuiting into complete static from that tingle-inducing touch alone. Paul hums, laughter lacing the sound. He kisses him on the thigh, watching him with clever eyes and a smirk.

“See? You’re so responsive. And unfairly cute.”

“Shut up, I am not… C-cute…” Flake begins, trailing off with a breathy groan when Paul slowly slides two fingers into him. Paul kisses wetly at his thigh, down to his groin. Flake is shuddering already. Paul is gently moving his fingers in and out of him as he nuzzles into his angry red cock with a grin toying at his lips. Paul then flattens the width of his tongue along the underside, and licks a fat stripe from the base to the concentration of nerves at the frenulum. Flake’s hips jerk back into the bed, his hand flying out to grab a fistful of bleached hair. Paul chuckles.

“So cute,” Paul remarks, speaking casually against Flake’s dick, a playful prelude to something more that only winds Flake up further, “You won’t convince me otherwise, Flake. You may try, but you will fail.”

“You—i-idiot…” Flake begins to say with force, but it weakens into something breathless, watching dazedly as Paul sweeps his pink tongue around the dripping head of his cock. Paul’s breathing is hard and heavy against his dick and clenching belly, his eyes closed and brow knit. Like he’s already getting drunk off of Flake again. He finally sucks him into his mouth. Flake moans, head dropping back into the bed. Paul’s sucking is harsh and loud in the room as he begins moving his mouth. Meanwhile, he curls his fingers up inside of Flake to ruthlessly stimulate his prostate, all at once, like a punch. His wrist flexes from the strain of pumping his fingers inside of his ass.

And it works. Flake comes almost immediately with a lurch of his hips and a cry of overwhelmed pleasure. Paul’s sucking only intensifies, flushed cheeks hollowed with his brow knit in concentration. He continues thrusting his fingers into him, milking his orgasm as much as he can, pulling it taut and even further still. Flake’s cock flexes between Paul’s lips as he shot his cum, flooding his mouth. Flake’s handful of his hair tightens to a point of pain. Paul pulls off, swallows hard, and then laughs with a wince, reaching up to grab onto his wrist, “Ow, ow, ow, Flake!”

Flake immediately releases his grip. Panting harshly, entire body trembling uncontrollably, Flake just goes limp against the bed, legs collapsing around Paul. Paul gently removes his fingers from inside him while he kisses over his heaving belly, making sure to mark every mole with his lips.

“Good?” Paul asks with a giggle as he crawls over the other man who seemed to have simply died. Flake grumbles incoherently, turning his body to hide his face in the pillows. Paul laughs. He kisses happily over Flake’s bony shoulder and his protruding shoulder blade. Flake curls up, seemingly embarrassed. And he is. Paul is too much sometimes. As well as the orgasms he seems to be able to rip out of his soul. Paul bites teasingly at Flake’s back and neck, nuzzles into his sweat-damp hair, and then murmurs, “Let me get this condom off and then I’m going to remind you how cute you are. Don’t move.”

“Idiot,” Flake slurs, still recovering from whatever Paul just did to him.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
